In 2018, I suffered a miscarriage, but my placenta remained inside me for two days. My OB insisted on expelling it with medication instead of a D&C. As my symptoms worsened, my husband told me to switch doctors.
A new OB immediately recommended a D&C, so we headed to the hospital. On the way, my condition deteriorated—dizziness, vomiting, and difficulty breathing. It took so much effort to tell my husband that I felt like I was dying.
I just uttered, “ER. Now. Urgent.” I knew I couldn’t die in the car—not in front of my husband and daughter.
We rushed to the nearest emergency room, but there were no beds. It took them a while to realize that every single minute counted.
To make the situation worse, I clearly remember hearing a staff member say, “This is a lost case.” But one doctor refused to give up. He said something like, “Let’s try one last time.” I remember them injecting me with something for the heart.
My heart rate shot up to 200 bpm. Just like in medical dramas, the doctors kept talking to me, trying to keep me awake. I forced myself to stay conscious, afraid that if I closed my eyes, they would stop trying.
When I was stable, one of the kind staff members turned out to be my schoolmate from elementary. In my head, I was pretty embarrassed because:
- I couldn’t remember him at all.
- He probably saw my breasts. (I’m trying to keep this light, but it’s really not.)
I stayed for about a week in the hospital to fully recover.
I survived, but I didn’t leave that hospital the same. The trauma stayed. For years, I was terrified to close my eyes, afraid I would stop breathing. My health anxiety turned into full-blown hypochondria.
Later, three different OB-GYNs reviewed my records and all agreed—this should have never happened. I had proof that my first OB ignored my symptoms and refused to admit me. I could have sued, but I was too exhausted to fight another battle.
I lost my baby. I nearly lost my life. And the entire ordeal stole my chance to grieve the loss of my child properly.
If you made it til here, thank you. To all the mommas who lost their baby, my heart goes out to all of you. Grief comes in waves. Keep staying strong.